Project Team operation, surely? They’ve got the resources, the background. All we’ll do, muddy the waters. Get in the way to no good cause.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘We’ve plenty enough on our plates as it is.’
No one spoke. A slight scuffing of feet beneath the table. Uneasy glances.
‘As I say, not necessarily the way we see it,’ Burcher said. ‘Not at all. Everyone else here — Warren, Alex, Charles-’
‘Charlie.’
‘Right, Charlie. They’re all intent on the bigger picture, you’re correct about that, of course. Whereas you, your team, specific aims, objectives — homicide investigation, your field of expertise.’
Not what you said last time, you bastard, Karen thought; not what you implied.
‘So, we’d like you to push ahead on the Camden killing, Milescu, too, concentrate your energies there.…’
‘And these last two murders, Stansted …’
‘As and how they’re linked, yes. Liaising with Warren, of course.’
‘That’s a big stretch, without help.…’
‘Any request for extra bodies, extra hours — sympathetically met.’ Burcher lifted the papers in front of him and tapped the ends into place.
‘Alex, anything you want to add?’
‘Not at this stage, thank you.’
‘Charles?’
‘Charlie. Yes, just one thing. For some little time now, we’ve been taking an interest in the activities of a certain Anton Kosach. Businessman from the Ukraine. No links with Horak as far as we’ve been able to establish. Bit more establishment, more upmarket. Oil money to begin with. More recently mineral products, high-end motors, transportation. Owns a number of properties, a place in Surrey worth upwards of fifteen million amongst them. Numbers amongst his friends one or two with possible connections to people trafficking. As far as we’ve made out so far, these connections are purely social, but that’s by no means definite. And Kosach’s various enterprises put him in a good position to facilitate money laundering on quite a large scale. Again, nothing definite, nothing proved. But we’re watching. SIS also.’
A glance towards Alex Williams, who nodded agreement.
‘So,’ Frost concluded, ‘should Kosach’s name show up on anyone’s radar, I’d appreciate a heads-up forthwith. Alex, also.’
Burcher thanked him, thanked everyone, brought the meeting to a close. General movement, a scraping of chairs.
‘It’s been a while,’ Alex Williams said, falling into step beside Karen in the corridor outside.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I’ll give you a call. Come over. Bit of a catch-up.’
‘Okay, fine. I’d like that,’ Karen said, without quite believing it would happen. Busy people, busy lives. Alex Williams, busier than most.
At the foot of the stairs they exchanged smiles and went their separate ways, Karen fast-dialling Mike Ramsden as she did so, setting up a meeting of their own, how to proceed from here.
35
Not quite able to settle, alert for sounds of an approaching car, strange voices, a vehicle turning into the lane, they had fallen, nevertheless, into something approaching a routine. Letitia was the more listless, the more likely to lapse into moods of depression, alleviated by her son’s almost omnipresent good humour.
Kiley had made contact with Anton’s brother, Taras, as requested; driven up from London and met him at an Ibis hotel, off the M6 north of Preston. Phoned Cordon to report.
Anton was under a lot of pressure, Taras had told him, seeking to explain his brother’s behaviour. Business, it does not always run well. He chose not to elaborate. And on top of that, this thing with Letitia and his son … much as he liked Letitia, Taras said, she was in the wrong. Taking a man’s son away from him, his flesh and blood.
Taras had gripped Kiley’s arm. ‘In our country, in Ukraine, it is most important bond. Family. Father and son. Holy, you understand? Here, in England, perhaps is different. But for us, for Anton … And what did she think, Letitia? She could run, hide forever? And you, you know where she is. Her and the boy.’
Kiley had shaken his head.
‘You must.’
‘Not exactly.’
‘This man with her …’
‘A man with her?’
‘This man, he is her lover?’
‘No.’
‘You are sure of this?’
Kiley nodded.
‘Then why?’
‘A friend.’
‘A fool.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You know where they are,’ Taras said again.
‘She wants to be certain nothing will happen to her,’ Kiley said. ‘If she returns. Her or the boy. She wants to know that Anton will sit down with her and talk, talk reasonably.’
‘Of course.’
‘A lawyer should be involved.’
‘No lawyers. He does not like lawyers.’
‘An accommodation needs to be reached. Equal access to the child.’
‘Equal, no. He will never agree. Danya is his son.’
‘Equal access and a financial arrangement of some kind, to look after the boy. The exact details can be sorted later.’
Over and over, Taras was shaking his head.
‘I was told you were a reasonable man,’ Kiley said. ‘A good man. Someone who could be trusted to do the right thing.’
Taras flexed the fingers of both hands, the knuckles cracking, one after another. ‘I will speak with him. My brother. Do what I can. I will let you know.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But no promise.’
‘I understand.’
‘What d’you think?’ Cordon had asked Kiley, once the conversation had been relayed.
‘My best guess?’
‘Of course.’
‘My guess would be, sooner or later Anton will come round. Pretend to, at least. Agree to terms, and then, when he’s got them in his sights, renege on the whole thing. Till then, I’d keep a weather eye.’
‘You’re a pal, Jack.’
‘Just wait till you get my bill.’
Cordon took it as a joke; hoped against hope that it was. All too aware that Kiley had already gone the extra mile and beyond. Loyalties stretched close to breaking point, he shouldn’t wonder.
‘As soon as Taras gets back to me,’ Kiley said, ‘I’ll let you know.’
They were still waiting.
In the kitchen, next to Letitia, Cordon was Heston Blumenthal and Nigel Slater rolled into one. ‘Cordon Bleu
